| Indoor fireworks amuse your kitchen staff
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| Dusting plastic garlic plants they snigger in the draught
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| When you ride through the parlour
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| Wearing nothing but your armour
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| Playing indoor games
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| One string puppet shows amuse your sycophantic friends
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| Who cheer your rancid recipes in fear they might offend
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| Whilst you loaf on your sofa
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| Sporting falsies and a toga
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| Playing indoor games, indoor games
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| Your mean teetotum sins arouse your seventh wife
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| Who pats her sixty little skins and reinsures your life
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| Whilst you sulk in your sauna
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| 'Cause you lost your jigsaw corner
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| Playing indoor games, indoor games
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| Each afternoon you train baboons to sing
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| Or swim in purple perspex water wings
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| Come Saturday jump chopper, Chelsea brigade
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| Hard bender-trender
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| It’s all indoor games
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| No ball bagatelle incites your children to conspire
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| They slide across your frying pan and fertilise your fire
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| Still you and Jones go madder
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| Broken bones, broken ladder
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| Hey ho
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| Yeah, hahahaha, hey ho |